


Taken the risk

by elsa



Category: Persuasion - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 02:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsa/pseuds/elsa
Summary: He had resolved, when he left, never to enter her father’s house again. He could not imagine a path in his life that would lead him proposing a second time to Anne.





	Taken the risk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bette/gifts).



> Inspired by the prompts: "what happens next," "sexy times that involve them being very in love," "letting go of how controlled they are", "exploration of family dynamics", "love stories", "ust", "angsty"

He woke up slowly, in an unfamiliar bed. There was a small dresser and an open window, when he rose to look at the view, he saw a sea sunnily lit. It was late morning, and shopkeepers were bustling about, people running errands. He couldn’t remember how he got here. 

There were several sailors downstairs in the hotel dining area after he had gotten dressed that he vaguely recognized; he had been about to be posted to the Laconia. They greeted him cheerfully, in the manner of long-time friends and colleagues. 

“Are you feeling better this morning, Wentworth?” 

“I’m all right.” 

“Nasty fall, yesterday, on the ship. I tell you young Kent is a menace. I’ve told him to be careful with the rigging, again and again. Do you remember anything of it? You were quite out, yesterday.” 

“Was I? I confess I don’t remember it.” 

“Oh, well, as long as you are feeling well enough today — the doctor did say it looked like you might be out for a few days but you just need a bit of rest. Dye managed to find us this place to put us up.” 

“I’d think all you need is a couple days and some good breakfasts, Carter. Here, we won’t see this for long.” A waiter came by at this moment, with a tray full of meats, eggs, porridge; after months of hard biscuits in the last go around, Frederick did find himself quite hungry, so he shook off the last of his misgivings. It was simple enough — he had gotten off his ship, hit his head, probably; it hadn't been the first time in these rough and tumble engagements ; he’d remember by-and-by. The conversation revolved around their current work at sea, the state of the ship, all the things that he had been up on and talked about, and he began to feel quite clubby. His shore leaves for the last few years had been enjoyable, to say the least. He was confident to feel better soon.

Near the end of the meal, the officer named Carter said, “Frederick, did you say you had an engagement this week and you won’t be able to join us in town? Don’t you need to leave to catch the post?” 

“I remember that,” one of the others said. “You said you were going to Bath. To your new wife’s family.” 

“Oh. That’s right. You’ve met her?” 

“She’s very lovely. I have to say, Wentworth,” Carter said, jovial and teasing, “you’ve married above yourself.” 

“Really, Wentworth — how many times did you have to ask her?” 

“I should think I’d never propose marriage again to the same woman,” Frederick said stiffly. 

“Arrogant. Well, for god’s sake don’t be late. You do know the address, don’t you? Look, I think you’ve written it down before you came to land, you were telling me.” 

Frederick took out the notebook that he had placed in his inner pocket of his jacket: the front page did, indeed, have an address, in Bath. That was several hours away; he would need to catch the post.

“Well, that’s all right,” he said, his voice light and casual. “ I’ll be going.” They chided him as he left. He paid his bills, took his suitcases — he had always packed lightly — briskly walked down the steps and caught a cab to the station. He remembered last year deciding he was ready to marry, and drunkenly telling one of the other officers that any girl could have him for a smile. 

Why shouldn't he have been quickly married? Long uncertain engagements were intolerable.

Bath was typical; looking like it was threatening to rain. He ought to buy an umbrella. He walked briskly through town, hesitating at one of the flower shops, and purchasing a vibrant bouquet.

The house in Bath was in a tony street, with elegant windows — the sort of house where he’d go, and get looks at before. His confidence had never failed him, though. He walked up the steps, two at a time, and knocked on the door. 

A servant greeted him warmly as a master, and brought him in. There were several people already insid, having a lunch party. He was greeted with effusions and cheers with several pretty young women who came out to see him, whom he determined, after some conversation, to be friends of the family. 

“Captain Wentworth! We didn’t expect you back until tomorrow.” 

“I took the first post,” he said, easy and social. 

“Let me fetch your wife, Captain,” the servant said, “she’s upstairs at the moment.” 

“We’re almost finishing up here. We don’t want to keep you. We’ve been meaning to go, we just wanted to say hello while we’re in town.” 

“No need to on my account,” said Frederick. “How are you finding Bath?” 

“Oh! We’re enjoying it so very much. We’re going to the new play tomorrow, you must come...” 

“We’ve heard so many good things about it —“ 

At that moment, Anne Eliot walked down the stairs, and smiled at him. 

The shock of it was beyond belief. He paled, then coloured and stayed silent. He was sure he was quite red, but the woman he was talking to, a Mrs. Benwick, continued on; it wasn’t necessary to say anything as others took up the conversation, but he had instinctively turned away; he forced himself to be still. Benwick noticed his silence and said cheerily, “Oh, there’s Anne, we’ll let you two together,” and another voice saying, “I’m sure we ought to go, I’m sure Mrs. Wentworth will want to speak to her husband after he’s been gone,” and Anne saying, “no, of course you must stay — well — I’ll see you at the dinner tonight then?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

Frederick walked to the table and stared at the letters on it, rather blindly, and then took quick looks back at Anne while she was chatting with the visitors. He had not seen her in perhaps seven years. She was not unrecognizable; but she looked older and without a girlish bloom. Her eyes were just the same.

His gaze met hers and he quickly looked away.

When everyone had left, Anne walked to the table, Frederick stepped away and the bouquet was crushed between them. "This is for you," said Frederick, abruptly. His voice sounded normal but felt unused, hoarse.

“Thank you, they’re lovely.” She looked at him affectionately. 

More than anything that look brought back memories, rushing back to him in color. 

Frederick reflexively stepped back, and Anne stopped smiling, hesitated. She tried to catch his eye; but Frederick wouldn't look at her. He was not comfortable, not easy, not able to feign that he was. 

“You must be tired. I’ll put these in a vase, shall I?” Anne turned and walked across the drawing room. She returned and sat on the chaise and asked him about his trip, about the journey, the same as the visitors earlier. She was more reserved now; it was impossible to know what she was thinking. Frederick answered tolerably, but his mind felt in tumult, and compared to Anne’s quiet demeanor he felt like such a situation was intolerable.

Abruptly he said, “Oh — Anne,” he forced himself, he barely stopped himself from saying, “Miss Eliot,” it brought a panicky forbidden feeling “I’ve got to — there’s an appointment I have at the service, I need to stop by it, quickly. I forgot I had business here—“ 

“Oh. Of course.”

“I may be gone for a bit.”

“However long you need. I told my sister you might not be here for her party tonight,” Anne said. 

“Well. I suppose I was earlier than expected. Excuse me.” He stood up hurriedly. Anne followed him to the entryway. 

“Don’t forget your coat,” she said, softly. Their hands touched as she handed it to him, and as he buttoned it, she turned up the collar, touching his neck. Frederick felt a shiver that he could feel all the way down his spine, and the first shadow of long gone memories. “It’s cold outside,” she said. 

.

He was almost all the way to the wharf when he allowed himself finally to think, but he could not make sense of it for a long time. when he left he had resolved never to enter her father’s house again. He could not imagine a path in his life that would lead him proposing a second time to Anne. He was not a romantic or sentimental person. 

His confidence in himself was sure, so seeing Anne again was alarming, unnerving, as if he had been taken against his will or entrapped. 

I would have never asked her again. I would have never. She used me ill, she disappointed and deserted me, I couldn't abide that...

He climbed the rocks along the shore again, remembering the times he had sat on the shore as a boy of sixteen or seventeen with more ambition than prospects, thinking: I wish there was a war.

He did not know how long he staid; it was a busy street, and there was bustling and noises to take one out of oneself if only for a time. The sun was beginning to set.

“Frederick! Frederick — is that you?” 

It was Sophie, and Admiral Croft was with her. Sophie embraced him and said, “Anne had said you were come to Bath, and I thought we might find you out here. But whatever are you doing out here?”

“I had some business to attend to. It’s — it’s good to see you again.” 

“We’ve been to your country house a half dozen times this past year, how queer you’re acting,” she said with a smile. “Father's dreadfully proud of you, he dotes on Anne, yet is half afraid of her! And indeed you ought to go back. Of course Miss Elizabeth Eliot’s party is tonight and you must be accompanying Anne. But shouldn’t you be with her now?” 

“Yes, I’ll go back.” Sophie peppered him with questions as they were walking, mostly about the state of his voyages. Some time afterwards, she ran into a group of friends and broke off to converse with them. Admiral Croft pulled him aside. 

“You’ve been very crafty, Frederick. You haven’t told me how fearless and determined Anne gets when she wants things! She’s as quiet as a little judge but when our friend ran into trouble in the West Indies...” He told Frederick the story of how Anne had undertaken while Frederick was away to write and secure legal advice and funds for their mutual friend who was in need of Frederick’s advice, with determination and vigor. “You underestimate these ladies, I think.” 

“I don’t think I’ve underestimated Anne.” 

“You haven’t been in trouble with her, have you, Frederick? I hope she hasn't considered you to be acting cold. A year after your wedding, of course, that may seem like a long time, but in the general span of things...” 

“No, no, of course not.” 

“And if it’s the children you’re thinking of, rest assured, that will come in time —“ Frederick went silent and endured this cheerful if poorly meant advice for several minutes. It was almost a relief when he saw their townhouse within sight. Admiral Croft finished off his words of domestic wisdom hurriedly as Sophie came back, and bade him goodbye, and that they were sure to meet in some time for they both had been given cards to Miss Elizabeth Eliots’ party.

The servant let him inside. Anne was in the parlor, fixing what appeared to be a shade on a heavy light, very cautiously. Frederick remembered, suddenly, her careful and delicate craftwork, eight years ago. He instinctively went and held the light still for her.

“Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

“I just needed to fix it since I don’t think we’ll be back for some time after this visit.” After a brief pause, she looked up at him and said, a bit timidly, “did your business go well?” 

Frederick said it was fine, and that the servant had informed him as he entered that the carriage was being readied for them to leave for the party within the hour. Anne acknowledged this and said she would go upstairs to get dressed. She paused, hesitated, looking at his face; and Frederick was sure she could read everything there. 

He always thought Anne would dutifully and meekly marry someone her family liked and he had convinced himself that she was not who he thought she was; that they would never had suited. How COULD he have married her? 

She was still very pretty.

To derail this line of thought and to distract Anne from noticing, he said, “I ran into Admiral Croft on the way here.” 

“Did you?”

“He’s renting Kellynch Hall."

“For about two years now. I believe he’s quite fond of it.” 

“Yes, he was telling me.” 

She was not in love with him at all, though. Anyone who was really in love would have believed him and taken the risk. 

Anne tried to pick up a heavy chaise to move it to a better place. Frederick stopped her and did it himself. Anne thanked him. 

"It's just for Miss Smith. Perhaps if there was more space, she could come by in a chair and move about more easily."

"Yes, that would be a good idea." 

“I think that’s all I wanted to do, really. Shall I go dress for my sister’s party?” 

Frederick followed her upstairs, and the servant helped him choose a dress jacket that would be appropriate — he remembered Elizabeth’s parties. He was done quickly, as was his habit. In exploring the room he saw there was a collection of his favorite papers on the table, and he looked through them with interest until he realized Anne must have arranged them, must have thought about him, had thought about him as she was preparing for his return. From then on a great many memories came, as simple as if being reminded by seeing her hand on a door, and the holiday parties at Kellynch Hall, her beautiful ancestral home. The way she gazed up at him after fixing the light was the same way she did so eight years ago, when they had spent all that time together during her sister’s parties, talking along the park walks, inside the pavillion, in the dark. He wanted to give her everything then and he knew he could do it. He had told her about the successes he would have, the wealth he would win, everything that would happen.

She was an excellent horsewoman, and used to bring him around the grounds and the park. Frederick was not very good at riding, but he did not think she noticed.

The knot he was tying became hard and impatient. He walked downstairs and passed the time looking through the letters on the desk, trying to ground himself. Many of them were business letters -- Anne was writing for him. In financial matters, in the necessary dealings with the house and their tenants, temperance and intelligence jumped out at him on every line of the page. A strong mind, and a sweet temper... 

There were steps on the stairs. He turned. Anne paused at the staircase, her hand on the polished railing. 

The carriage was outside. In the dim light of the street lamps, he offered Anne his hand and she went inside the carriage and he followed her in, still thinking of the sudden vivid memory of standing by the grand staircase at Kellynch Hall for the first time, unknown and unheard of, and looking up. All he could hear was his pounding of his heart. 

.

The drawing rooms were lit up, the company assembled. It was just a dance, a mixture of those who had never met before and people who met too often, too numerous for intimacy. 

"Anne's husband, a bowing acquaintance -- Wentworth, Captain Wentworth. A well-looking man, is he not?" he heard Sir Walter say to one of his acquaintances, and introduce him around the room, incredibly, as his son in law. There were several cousins of Anne's, a Lady Darymple and Miss Carteret, who were innoxious. Elizabeth Eliot, he noted, was rather nicer to him now; she would turn away from him with coldness. He remembered he thought Elizabeth was handsome, the first time he saw her, before he met Anne.

Lady Russell had kind inquiries for his trips, though he found it difficult to be polite to her. Throughout it all, he was never not aware of Anne in the room, glowing and lovely and admired. 

"She's pretty, isn't she, Mrs. Wentworth? Very pretty when one looks at her." 

"Oh, I admire her more than Elizabeth Eliot, I confess... and she looks more lovely after she has married." 

"Anne is so well-looking now that you're back," Charles Musgrove said to him. "I hadn't thought it but you two have suited admirably. And of course, you've taken care of her." 

"I'll try to be back more often." 

The party lasted for hours, but it felt like he couldn't take her eyes off her the entire time.

She had so sweet, so yielding, so gentle a temper, Frederick thought, looking at Elizabeth Eliot and Sir Walter -- and surrounded by people like these. But it was simple enough. Anne probably married me for money and to get away from her family. 

When they were going back, he said to Anne, "Were you almost going to marry a man named Elliot last year?" He had had some conversations since then which had put him on the right footing. 

"You know I wasn't," Anne said. 

They were much together; it must have been the most probable thing in the world to have been wished by anyone connected to them. Before he could continue with this thought, Anne said, "Thank you for coming, that must have been rather trying." 

"It's hard to see your family not appreciating you." 

"They do appreciate me." 

"They don't know you." Frederick said slowly, "They don't know you like I do." 

When they got back home, Anne carefully stepped inside. The rented house was small, there was a dressing room, but only one bedroom. Anne sat down at the desk and began to slowly take off her evening gloves, folding them carefully, then prepared to put out the lights. Frederick watched her.

"Anne." 

She turned.

"Don't do that now," he said, and kissed her. 

They had kissed, chastely, during their brief engagement, eight years ago. This kiss was nothing like that. it was hard, forceful, posessive. 

But instead of instantly getting his way, he was surprised to feel a resistance. Anne slowly led him upstairs, closed the door. Frederick bit his lip. The longing he had was old, buried too deeply for conscious awareness. The past fell away, the years of foreign service, of rough work, active service and rough climes; he was in his bedroom with Anne Eliot and she was his wife; she had waited for him. He was in their bed, kissing her, and she felt fragile and delicate underneath him, he felt the sharpness of her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder.

"Frederick," Anne signed, and Frederick felt it then, irrational undeserved happiness creeping up over him, unnoticed. 

.

In the morning, he woke up and remembered. 

Anne was already up. He sat up; she had brought a tray with her of tea. 

"Good morning."

"Good morning." She was smiling at him, hair loose over her shoulders, she lay on the bed and just watched him, looking absurdly pleased, eyes slowly going over his body, relaxed and open, for the first time she seemed just as she had when she was a young girl again, and Frederick remembered how tired, awful, faded she looked just a year or two before. She touched his arm under the covers and said, "I thought we might go take a walk along the shore today."

"I'd like that."

"I meant to suggest it yesterday, but you seemed..." 

"Don't worry. It'll be alright now." 

"I've missed you so," she said.


End file.
